


Fog

by cruisedirector



Category: Smallville
Genre: First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Secrets, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-23
Updated: 2005-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late at night it's not as hard to see through the clouds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karelian/gifts).



> I wrote a version of this story in a different fandom under a different name. It's set in some alternate past when Clark's old enough for it not to be a crime but before all the gratuitous rift games.

The roads had been terrible all the way back from Metropolis, shrouded in fog, covered with mud and rocks dredged up by a recent storm so violent that Clark wondered whether meteor rocks were somehow involved, though he didn't feel ill, just very tired. Lex insisted on driving even though Clark had offered -- being used to farm roads and never having swerved off a bridge, and he, of course, could see things Lex would never have noticed. But Lex hated it when Clark was a nervous passenger, so he kept his mouth shut, and the car slid all over the place, jerking Clark back and forth within the seatbelt like the rag doll he had to let himself become lest he give away his strength trying to hold himself upright. It felt almost like being on a spaceship.

His parents were probably already asleep, since Clark had left them a message that he wouldn't be home until after midnight, so when Lex invited him to have a late dinner at the Luthor castle, he said yes. Lex was probably just trying to be nice; Clark was sure that his friend wanted nothing more than to have some time alone, to drink and play the piano and do the business things he stopped doing whenever Clark was around. So he tried to stay out of the way, flopping down on a sofa with one of Lex's old comic books while Lex went to the kitchen to summon some food. The words blurred and swam as if the fog had gotten inside, between Clark and the pages. When the flimsy paper got too heavy to hold, he put the comic book on the floor and lay down across the cushions, pulling his legs nearly to his chest so he could fit on the small sofa. He wondered whether the electricity had gone out because when he tried to open his eyes, it seemed awfully dark.

Some time later, Clark woke from a deep sleep in a dark room, stiff and cold despite the blanket that had been tucked around him. His neck felt odd from the angle at which it was bent on the corner cushion and his legs were tense from being folded nearly double. The castle was silent; even the staff must have gone to sleep, for he could hear no voices even when he concentrated. He got up and found his way to the bathroom in the dark, turning on the light when he'd gotten inside, a habit he wondered why he kept up when he was alone with no one to notice his unnaturally powerful night vision. His hair was sticking straight up on one side and had been crushed flat on the other. "You're a sight," he greeted the face in the mirror with a false cheery grin.

As he opened the door, the light from the bathroom briefly illuminated the hallway. He hit the switch but he had already caught a glimpse of the corridor leading to Lex's rooms. Deciding that it would be rude to race home without saying goodnight and thank you, he followed the hall to the open door of Lex's bedroom, where his friend sprawled under a thick comforter on the big bed. Lex didn't stir when Clark leaned against the doorframe, considering whether to wake Lex up. It was probably after midnight and Lex would be up at the crack of dawn to work, so rousing him might not have been appreciated any more than leaving without a farewell.

Still deciding what to do, Clark walked through the doorway into the bedroom and stared down at his friend in the dim light through the curtains. Lex was lying on his back, one arm thrown above his head, shirtless. His eyes were closed but his mouth was partly open, half-smiling. Clark smiled as well as he walked around to the other side of the bed, sitting down on the mattress. "Lex," he whispered, but the sleeper didn't open his eyes. The bed seemed much more inviting than a return to the sofa. After a moment's hesitation, Clark kicked his shoes off, then pulled off his sweater, leaving it in a pile on the floor. Folding back the comforter, he slid into Lex's bed, pulling the covers up to his neck as his head sank onto the oversized pillow. Lex's sheets were very soft and smelled just-washed, and the pillow was the perfect mix of soft and resilient.

A sudden lurch tipped him halfway onto his side. Lex had rolled toward him, the shift in weight sending Clark tilting toward the center of the mattress. Lex's fingers grazed his arm, and it occurred to Clark to wonder whether Lex would be annoyed to find him sharing his bed. He couldn't quite make out the nuances of Lex's expression in the dark, but he felt the other man grab his bicep briefly before the fingers slowly uncurled. Lex must have been able to sense an intruder, yet he didn't seem to be worried. "It's just me," Clark whispered helpfully. The hand reached briefly for his arm again, fingers stroking gently, but Lex didn't speak.

Clark felt warmth creeping through him from the comforter and from the easy acceptance of his presence. Lex often showed little regard for Clark's personal space -- he stood very close when they were talking -- but Clark had wondered sometime whether this was an intimidation tactic or some sort of declaration of boundaries. His body responded to Lex in ways that sometimes surprised Clark, though he knew they weren't unheard of in human teenagers and his senses were so much more sensitive. Was Lex so self-contained that he could spend the night sleeping close to another person without any reaction, not even a physical response to a warm body? Or was it the opposite -- did Lex crave the contact? That thought sent another wave of heat through Clark, and he squirmed.

The movement stirred Lex, whose hand shifted past his arm to brush against his torso. The fingers groped, hesitated as they encountered the solidity of Clark's chest, then flattened slowly, fingertips sliding past the collar of his shirt to touch his skin. Clark lay still, breathing harshly beneath Lex's palm. No point in pretending that he wasn't getting hard, though he blamed the proximity and the strangeness of the situation, lying in bed with his sleeping friend who probably didn't even realize it was him. Lex's hand continued to move, skating over Clark's collarbone, up his neck to his jaw. Clark found that he was leaning into the touch, bringing himself face to face with Lex, so that when the other man hummed sleepily and rolled close, their mouths were centimeters apart.

Sweat and aftershave, alcohol and stale breath of sleep, the sharply male scent washed over Clark. It was familiar yet at the same time alien, out of place for him to encounter in a bedroom. But here he was in Lex's bed. And Lex still hadn't opened his eyes. Maybe he didn't know where he was, or with whom. Hesitantly Clark placed a hand on his hip and was about to say his name when Lex rocked into the touch, angled his head and pressed soft, seeking lips over Clark's.

So smooth, wet and inviting, not moving away. This was unexpected, melting in a stretch of smile. Clark felt his cock throb as his mouth responded, made giddy by the almost-laughter of a private joke. An arm went around his neck as his body thrust instinctively toward durable warmth that wrapped over him in welcome. He closed his eyes, afraid that he would not be able to control the heat that wanted to burst out of them. Lips parted to ask a question, answered by the tongue flicking forward to taste him. His own tongue greeted and stroked, welcomed eagerly when it began to explore. A heavy languor filled his body, trapping him between the pillow and Lex.

Kissing Lex. So he liked it, like finally getting a present he'd been wanting, but he hadn't, had he? His hands moved against sticky-smooth skin, learning by touch the shape of backbone and shoulderblade, sharp and strong. Kissing Lex. So it felt good, like having a friend share a long-kept secret, but they hadn't even hinted, had they? Unknown yet not entirely unexpected, pure sensation in the quiet broken only by the whisper of skin brushing skin and Lex's pulse, heartbeats like a mantra or a whispered secret, kissing Lex...

The scream of an alarm rent the dark like sudden headlights in fog. Both of them jerked back, gasping.

When it happened again, Clark managed to perceive that the siren was a ringing telephone, somewhere back on the table by Lex's side of the bed. Lex threw himself into a sitting position and fumbled for the handset, cursing as he knocked a glass from the tabletop to the floor.

"Yes?" Clark heard him demand in a rough voice, before his tone and tense frame abruptly melted in formless reprieve: "Yes. He's here. He's fine. Fell asleep on my sofa. I'm sorry, I should have called but I thought I'd only wake you."

Clark's parents, he realized with a sick feeling in his stomach. He rose on his elbows, preparing to get up and leave the room, to give his friend some privacy and try to get himself under control, but Lex stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, holding him down. Easy enough to comply; he still felt strange and maybe a little sick. He wondered whether Lex wanted him to overhear the conversation for some reason or if Lex just wanted Clark to stick around so he could question him afterward, there in his room where nobody could overhear.

"Don't apologize, Mr. Kent. I'll send him home first thing in the morning." Easy, smooth chat, imbued with diplomacy rather than the panic Clark imagined would be plain in his voice if he tried to talk to his father now. It made him homesick just to listen. He was vividly aware of being out of place, feeling every miniscule shift of the covers, hearing every stretch and sniffle and heavy breath. His mouth tingled. There was no fog here, no kindly veil of dreams to blur the reality of himself and Lex in bed where they'd just been kissing...

Lex slid his hand over to where Clark's rested on the bed, lifting and separating his fingers as he clasped his own through them. He squeezed tight, not trying to meet Clark's eyes in a room that was quite dark to his vision, just holding Clark's hand and running his thumb along a scrape on the back of his wrist.

Clark felt his cock respond again and wondered if Lex knew the effect he was having. He tried not to panic. It wasn't like Lex could try to blackmail him; Lex probably had more to lose than Clark did from a gay rumor, considering Clark's age and the fact that his parents would love him no matter what whereas Clark could only guess what Lionel Luthor would say about having a queer son. Then again, because Lex was older, maybe this was just a romp to him and Clark was reading way too much into one kiss and a little groping. It was hard to tell when Lex was serious. His clear blue eyes could hide all his bluffs.

"...okay. I'm going to get some sleep here, and I'll wake him as soon as it's light, all right?" The conversation was winding down. Clark realized he had missed overhearing what his father was saying, though he couldn't have helped it. His mind was entirely occupied with replaying the feel of Lex wrapped around him, replaying two dozen older conversations and smiles and casual hugs that suddenly seemed to have taken on another meaning. His heart had slowed enough that he no longer felt like it might heave out of his throat, but it was still jumping around, sending too much blood to his head and throat and a few other places.

Lex put the phone back in the base but he didn't lie down, sitting with his chin on his knees. His fist clenched and unclenched against Clark's, rumpling the sheet beneath.

"You all right?" Clark ventured after a little while. Lex gave a start, like he'd thought Clark might have fallen asleep. He untangled their fingers, ran his hand over his scalp as if he had hair to smooth, and lay down on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "Should I get out of here?"

"No." Lex's head turned toward him. "I was just wondering what your father would do to me if he knew where you were now. He would never believe me if I said you were the one who came in."

"Sorry about crashing like that. Uh, my neck was really sore from sleeping on the sofa. And I was cold."

"That's why you came in?" Just a simple question, but he knew how much was riding on the answer. Clark took too long figuring out what he wanted to say, and Lex filled the silence with a sigh that contained a sad chuckle. "Did I screw up?"

"What? No. Um...you were half asleep. I thought maybe you were dreaming you were with a girl."

Lex gave a sudden, loud laugh. He rolled onto his side and reached over, tracing Clark's jawline with his knuckles. Clark jumped at the contact like bolts of electricity, felt the shock travel down the length of his throat and chest. "No. Sorry," said Lex without sounding at all sorry. "I thought you were telling me something when you started undressing and got in bed with me."

Clark felt horror rise in his chest, then another wave of shock. Lex wasn't horrified. Lex had thought Clark was telling him something, and Lex had been willing -- maybe eager. Clark felt as though he'd tricked him into admitting it, completely by accident, which was almost worse than having Lex think what Lex had thought about him.

But now was Clark supposed to be horrified? Lex wouldn't trick him, would he? "I wasn't thinking too clearly," he explained lamely. "You don't have to apologize." Shit, that was just what Lex had said to his father. It brought a soft hum of amusement from Lex, whose fingers found his again, squeezed once, didn't quite let go though they uncurled as if expecting Clark to withdraw. Clark turned his head to the pillow and tried to shut himself up, but he needed to ask. Took a breath.

"You thought I was telling you something that you wanted to happen?"

"I thought you were telling me something that _you_ wanted to happen."

Lex sounded contrite. He wrapped Clark's hand in his and curled the fingers up, holding them still. Then he pushed both their thumbs upright, nudging Clark's backwards. "Hey!" Lex was thumb-wrestling him in earnest, trying to pin him down. "You're crazy!" A loud bark of amusement and their fingers went at it, circling one another, jabbing, until Clark won less from trying than because Lex was laughing too hard to concentrate. "Jesus, Lex." Clark flopped his arm down beside his friend. "Do you do this often?"

"All the time. I usually end up on top." Clark digested that silently, uneasily. Then Lex spoke with a chuckle in his voice: "You're talking about thumb-wrestling, right?"

He slugged Lex gently, which he knew was what his friend wanted him to do -- make contact. "Bastard." Laughing again, Lex shoved him back, and Clark said, "I'm a little confused, Lex," which was the understatement of the year. Now that the pictures were in his head, he was never going to get them out. Lex. With men. Top or bottom, mouth or ass, every new image put more heat in Clark's groin, and Lex lay beside him waiting to see if he was going to laugh it off, put his sweater on and leave, or kiss him again.

No question what his mouth wanted to do. No question what his cock wanted. More unthinkable that he could lie to Lex than admit it, after what Lex had confessed just by not saying no -- Lex who rarely came right out and told him anything, but who was still waiting silently, no longer laughing. Looking at Clark in a room too dark for him to see clearly, his palm turned up on the bed in invitation if Clark wanted it to be, or else lying there to put space between them. His choice.

"I don't do this," Clark muttered, replying to his own previous query, and heard the gruffness in his voice, and didn't know whether he hoped Lex would read it as disgust or fear. "I mean, I've never -- I don't think I ever wanted to with a man before." He hadn't meant to say that last aloud -- hadn't even meant to think it, but there it was, no way to take it back.

Lex's hand moved, just fingertips against Clark's arm, and it was like being undressed and having dozens of invisible bodies start rubbing everywhere...a promise of dark secret gratification that made his head swim. Not quite like red kryptonite, because he was thinking clearly enough, but everything in him telling him _yes_ and _take_ and _now_.

"Do you want to now?" Typical straightforward Lex, as if they were discussing a business transaction rather than something that could change Clark's entire life. Almost like he was playing a scene, testing different ways it could go, but sympathetic too -- holding on to Clark's arm like Clark might be dizzy, which Clark was, as if he were about to fall off a bridge. Just from Lex asking.

"Do you?" Clark asked, because he had to know, not just the answer to the relatively simple _will you_ but the messier _will you admit you need_, even though in ten seconds he thought he might end up deciding he couldn't no matter what Lex said. Lex didn't give him that long. He slid forward, closer than he had ever been, arms and legs pressing with intent along Clark's body. How did he do that, hitting all those sensitive spots at once that Clark hadn't even known about, chest and groin and inside of one wrist and just inside an ankle and flush against one thigh, all too obviously hard?

Then Lex tilted his head and moved in for a kiss that was slow and hot, full of promises and hunger. It was the hunger that decided Clark more than the promises. Promises could mean nothing, he and Lana kept learning that, and maybe he kept chasing Lana because he counted on nothing permanent ever being decided there, but he knew that if he stopped Lex now, wrote this off to exhaustion and loneliness, went back to being friends with Lex and tried to forget about it, the feeling would still be there, unsated. Maybe insatiable. Living with whatever he found couldn't be worse than never knowing.

Clark kissed Lex with everything he hadn't known that he was holding back, sliding his arms around him. He let himself feel things like gratitude and lust, like his cock pushing eagerly against another man's body. Lex's lips turned up against the skin of his throat to tell Clark that whatever road had led him there, it was safe now, shrouded in a fog of blankets, to travel the strange landscape and let his friend show him the way home.


End file.
